


Dra Edur Bahr As Dimi

by Anxious_Alice_05



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: AU of an AU, Angst, F/M, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, I'm so sorry, Mild Gore, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29007084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anxious_Alice_05/pseuds/Anxious_Alice_05
Summary: Cerrebryn visits Ondolemar after the reclamation of MarkarthTW: Mild gore, vague description of torture, main character death, angst
Relationships: Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ondolemar, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ondolemar, Ondolemar (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s), Revyn Sadri & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Dra Edur Bahr As Dimi

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Execution](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812500) by [imdex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imdex/pseuds/imdex). 



> Please take note of the TWs

Whispers fly through Markarth. A woman, known only by the Jarl’s court, has been seen sneaking through the streets at night. If the stories are to be believed, she’s a servant of Sanguine, here to corrupt the devout followers of Lady Dibella, or a Thalmor spy, planning to cause Markarth’s third fall. In truth, she’s a woman who’s homesick and heartbroken.

She slinks up to the Keep, a bottle of mead already half empty. The guards, despite their almost constant patrols, barely catch a glimpse of her. That sliver of information will net them women and wine aplenty down at the inn...or so they hope. The elf continues on her journey, pushing open the Keep’s grand doors. The brass is cold and sobering. Completely bypassing the court, she stops in at Calcelmo’s (former) workspace. When the Stormcloaks first conquered Markarth, all foreigners were rounded up in the throne room. Rumor has it, Ulfric himself sat upon the throne, legs outstretched. The Thalmor guards had been killed in battle. Ondolemar was recognized for his position within the traitorous organization and promptly executed. Next were Calcelmo and Aicantar, purely based on their race. It was... _brutal_.

She paused in the doorway, glancing at the lit, but empty ruins. It had been the Fourth of Rain’s Hand, a rainy Loredas, when she had first returned. Cerrebryn had known something was wrong when a _woman_ had greeted her at the gate and it only got worse as she went further into the city. Revyn was traveling with her at the time. He drew stares, more than she had. Adults fingered their blades’ pommel while children skittered around in fear. The presence of a single dark elf untrained in combat was disturbing the people, curious. They should have known Cerrebryn, elven thief that she was, could be far more dangerous than him. The cowl protecting her identity meant that they couldn’t actually see her face, but that shouldn’t have mattered as the townspeople knew her...which meant everyone was transplants. And looking around, she realized the faces around her _were_ unfamiliar.

The sprint up to the Keep was brutal. Revyn lagged behind her, puffing. The woman, nearly feral with fear, slammed into the doors before slipping through. The guards jumped and readied their weapons, but she paid them no mind. Tripping, she stumbled into the throne room. Her eyes grew wide. _Pikes_ lined the dais. All of them had been dead for at least a few days, flies beginning to work. First the blacksmiths, then the apprentice and Faleen. Aicantar and his uncle were the second closest to the steps. Ondolemar’s guards were next. _Thongvor_ now sat on the throne, and his face curled into a grin. “Dragonborn, how kind of you to visit.” Sadri gagged at the putrid air, but his cousin ignored him. She wanted, no _needed_ to know if he was dead. Her husband, who could ghost his fingers over her in a loving caress and kill a man in the same breath. Cerrebryn managed to grind out, “Where...is...he.” “Who?” She almost strangled him, “Ondolemar.” Then, the traitor laughed and pointed upwards. Hanging from a chain, his gaping eye sockets were crusted with dried blood. Then, his wife saw the broken nose, purple bruises, and _split tongue_.

She backed away, tears perched on her lashes. He was dead. Not only that, but they had _tortured_ him until the end. Revyn retched into a silver bowl. “Y-you killed him?” Thongvor nodded with satisfaction, “Thrashed about till the end. Had some mighty interesting things to say.” She stalked closer, hand slipping to her dagger, “Os erufin. Homa lo.” A smug smile rested on the new Jarl’s face, “Don’t speak that, can’t understand.” The woman’s hand unsheathed the dagger, “Os vocun ohuhm molkhun. **Homa lo**.” Her words carried Thu'um and the man flinched. Revyn put a hand to her shoulder, “Oas edur khebreit. Khurha oal.” She snapped to him, tensing, “Oas fahre’ag yi daelekil.” Her cousin nodded, but said softly, “ _Erufi oal ghinu molgah._ ” Cerrebryn put her weapon away and wiped the tears from her eyes, “You’re lucky my cousin has a good head on his shoulders.” Cerrebryn snaps back to the present. Calcelmo’s workshop is still empty. She sighs, memories of the past weighing heavily, before turning to leave.

The Hall of the Dead is silent. Mist floats through the air as the Dragonborn makes her way back into the bowels. She’s visited so many times the way is burned into her very brain. Left, right, up the stairs, sharp turn, and there he is. The cool marble grounds her, much like _his_ hands used to. Cerrebryn takes another sip, then shimmies herself onto a ledge above the memorial candles. It’s been a couple years, but she _still_ returns monthly. When Ondolemar was alive, he would meet her at the gates. She thinks it’s funny, in a sad way. Even though he’s dead and gone, she _still_ wears his ring, _still_ visits, _still_ leaves Vlindrel’s door unlocked, praying he’ll come through after a hard day. But he doesn’t, he _never_ does.

She settles in, opens another bottle of mead, and starts talking.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so so sorry for writing this. I just saw a picture of Ondolemar's coffin and the brain worm wouldn't leave it alone until I gave in. I was partially inspired by imdex's Execution.  
> "The Concordat Effect" from Beyond Skyrim: Bruma, was my constant companion and it pairs well with this fic.  
> So in the original content (before it was cut), you could lose Markarth if you lost another battle.  
> Also, this isn't how their story goes, in my "canon" he ends up leaving the Thalmor after Elenwen's party. So sorry that isn't out yet, I'm stuck in this one scene that just won't work. Thinking about cutting it or leaving it at the current version.  
> I used the Casual Elder Scrolls wiki's Dunmeris (https://casualscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/Dunmeri_language#Adjectives). Sorry if there are errors, I'm a bit rusty.  
> Take care, stay safe, you're loved  
> -Alice


End file.
